


don't go far off

by andorgyny



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 07:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1502702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andorgyny/pseuds/andorgyny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose deals with the aftermath of Age of Steel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't go far off

  
On another world, she steps into an opulent ballroom that puts Versailles to shame, and the bustling crowd goes silent. She stands there in the entryway, eyes forward, lips painted a gentle red. Her gown, designed by the queen’s own seamstress, is the palest pink she has ever seen, all glitter and sequins and soft, soft chiffon. One of the handmaidens who helped ready her for the celebration had tied her hair in a simple chignon, though Rose can already feel errant curls falling out. Her blonde hair, a rarity on this planet, attracts eyes to her, but the gown keeps them engaged with her form.

She might be the most lovely woman in the entire party, but it hardly matters. The one man whose opinion she cares about has found himself a friend in the young queen, who might not be as pretty as Rose, but she is certainly more striking, all lush dark skin and pale blue eyes. While he seems to be thoroughly disinterested in Rose, he’s positively fascinated with Queen Ephasi. Has barely left her side all night.

Were Mickey here, he’d be dancing a smug little jig, drunk on Julsian wine and something like resentment. She sips her wine and smiles as a young noble approaches her.

He is tall and slender, a handsome specimen of his people. His skin is significantly lighter than Ephasi’s, and while generally this is seen as a negative amongst the Julsi people, who value the contrast between dark skin and light eye color, Rose knows that this particular noble is the son of a war hero, and as such he has the respect of the aristocracy. That he is training to be a physician is neither here nor there.

“Rose Tyler, you are a vision,” he says with a warm grin. “You look as though you want to run and never be found.”

She catches a glimpse of the Doctor behind him. “I think I’ve run enough for a while,” she replies. “Besides, I love dancing, Joh. Why would I run from here? It‘s my party, after all.” He takes her hand. Studies the veins beneath her light skin.

“Everyone has that one thing they’re running from,” he murmurs. “You look like the humans who came here centuries ago. But you are something wilder.”

“I need air,” she says. “Please, walk me around the courtyard?”

As she passes by the Doctor and Ephasi on the way out into the night air, she hears his voice quiet and feels his eyes on her back until long after she leaves the room. There comes a day, not too far in the future, when she will run. And he will chase her barefoot, strong legs pumping to catch up, to find, to fix. But today is not that day.

 

 

There’s a song stuck in her head. A skipping record, playing over and over again, a memory written in melody. She watches as her toes sink into the wet sand, as the sea reaches out to her ankles. It’s cool to her skin, but the sun is high and the air buzzes with heat. The water pulls back, tugs on her heels as it backs away into the deep. A gentle wave sprays salt onto her legs. Then back, retreating. Each is a crescendo.

Rose looks out to the horizon. Blue and blue, so much blue it stings against the back of her eyes. All she sees lately is blue. The planets, the TARDIS, the man behind the myth.

Something catches her eye. By her foot, a crab-like creature wrenches itself out from the sand. It totters past her, into the calm water. She crouches down to study its striped black and white shell, the long spindly legs, the way it shuffles against the sand.

“It’s a semoras,” says the Doctor, leaning over her to look at the crab. She jumps up at the sound of his voice. “Simple little creature that looks like an Earth crab, but it’s got no claws, as you can see. They’re quite common here.”

“It’s beautiful,” she says. “Strange, but beautiful.” She looks around her and wonders for the first time at the stark emptiness of the beach. “Gorgeous day like this, where are the people?”

“Good question, Rose!” He beams down at her; she smiles despite herself. “Nninsas–the indigenous people of this planet–don’t do well in the sun. They have to cover themselves completely to keep from… well, it’s not pretty. They burn far more easily than humans do, and are significantly less technologically advanced–which is saying something. So going to the beach has never been a particularly common pastime for them. Which leaves a pristine shore for us to explore.”

Rose nods. “It’s a shame, though. To be near something to beautiful and not be able to enjoy it.”

“Yes,” he says, something cold in his voice. “A tragedy, even.”

She watches the semoras scurry off into the sand. Looking up at the shoreline, she sighs. Mickey would have liked this place. “He never got to see a beach.”

“What?” The Doctor looks away from the horizon and meets her eyes. “Never?”

“Yeah,” Rose answers. “We were gonna go to the Isle of Wight for my 20th birthday.” She rolls her eyes. “Then I missed a year, and he never really forgave me, and I just sorta… forgot. How horrible is that? My best mate’s been planning this for two years, and I forget.”

“You never said.”

“That’s what happens when you’re in the TARDIS,” she says. “You forget.”

He says nothing, just stares out at the sea, watches the twin suns begin to falter in the sky, breathes in the cooling air. For a moment, she wonders if he even heard her.

“I never forget,” he whispers, and it’s so softly spoken, she thinks at first it’s an echo of the breeze. So softly spoken, she thinks he might not be aware he spoke at all.

He reaches for her hand.

She slides hers in her pockets.

 

 

They visit 1924 Manhattan, drink to Mickey’s new life on the other side. She gets drunk on black market whiskey; he fills her mind with tales of a man and a woman and their silly blue box. The girl’s name is Lily, and the man’s is unknown, but the heart of the box shines as brightly as ever in his dark eyes.

He loosens his tie (the one with the swirlies) and sticks his hands in his pockets as she takes a drag of her cigarette. It’s been ages since she quit, but she’s antsy as ever and the alcohol isn’t helping. The club atmosphere thickens with smoke and sex and poker, and she wonders if he’s got a die.

Once upon a time, she might have just dug into his pockets to find one. Now, it’s a quick question on a tongue and an answer on another, and the band begins to play a song about blue skies.

He has one–it’s twelve-sided, of course–and she swipes it up from his palm, fingers brushing against his cool skin. “If you guess which number it lands on, I’ll tell you a secret.”

He smirks and empties his drink. “Seven.”

She rolls the die. “Nine. Take off your shoes.”

“That wasn’t in the rules.”

She shrugs. His eyes dart to her chest and back to her face so quickly she barely registers it. “Fine. Next roll, whoever guesses wrong has to take off their shoes.” She hands him the die. “Do me, now.”

“Alright.”

“Um… ten.” He rolls the die and… “Ha! You have to tell me a secret.”

Handing her the little die, he frowns. “I am on my tenth body.”

“How many do you get?”

“Thirteen.”

She bites her lip. “You need to stop rescuing blondes from department stores, then.”

“Never.” The way he says it, so quick and sure, makes her heart pound loudly in her chest. But since he’s nearly as drunk as she is, she’s sure he’ll never know. At this rate, there’s a great many things he’ll never know. “Your turn, Miss Tyler. I’ll go with six.”

She rolls the die under her fingertips for a moment before releasing it. Eight. “Take off your shoes, mister.”

Grumbling something about loaded dice and pink lip conspiracies, he pulls off his trainers and drops them to the floor beside his barstool.

“Three,” she says. He rolls a twelve. She takes off her silver pumps.

“Nine.” She rolls a nine.

Rose nearly tells him about his missing jelly babies and just where they went (into Mickey’s stomach and presumably out into the parallel world). It’s just that it’s been a month, and she’s tired of keeping it all in, and she’s positively smashed, and he’s so beautiful she wants to cry, and she kisses him.

He freezes. Relaxes after a moment. Wraps his arms around her waist, hauls her closer. She pulls herself away from him before he can slip his fingers under her shirt. He’s breathing normally, which is not a surprise, given his respiratory bypass system, but she’s panting and there are tears in her eyes, and this is not how it was meant to happen–drunk and on a sort-of dare.

“I loved him,” she says. “I really did. But then I met you and I just… I couldn’t look back. Not to him, not to Mum. Not to anyone or anything from that life.”

“Rose,” he says after a moment. “It’s okay to mourn him.”

“But I’m not,” she replies, and she stands up from the bar and pulls her shoes back on and runs, runs, runs, into the crisp Manhattan night. And she stops after a moment, tears wrenching themselves from the very center of her body, and she falls to the ground.

She hears footsteps.

Arms wrap around her shoulders.

Lips press against her forehead.

“It’s okay to mourn him,” he repeats firmly, as he sits beside her in the street.

She shakes her head. “I already told you, I’m not mourning Mickey.”

“I thought… well. It’s only natural for you to feel upset when you lose someone you love.”

“That’s the thing, Doctor,” she says. “I didn’t lose him. He lost me.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand.”

She gasps against her tears. “He lost me when I left with you. And I never had a second thought about it, never a regret… but Doctor, don’t you see? I’m very drunk, and very angry, and I can’t deal with distractions anymore.” She looks at him, watches his mask shift into place. “If you want me gone, just say it already. Don’t pity me, just say it.”

He is silent for a long moment.

 

 

Later, he’ll take her to a concert in 42nd century Barcelona. But first, he kisses her.

* * *


End file.
